


To Change with Kings

by L_C_Darius



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_C_Darius/pseuds/L_C_Darius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The universe is a delicate thing, held together by tenuous threads.  When even a single thread gets snagged, the universe itself can morph into something drastically different that it was intended to be.  Something has tugged on the strings of the universe and Jean-Luc Picard can feel it.  Things are not as they should be.  In his efforts to set things right, he is thrust into the very place where his answers lie.  But, just when he has the power to fix the universe, something comes along that makes him question whether that is truly what he wants after all.  Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CAMIR](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=CAMIR).



> This story is for CAMIR, who requested a serious story where Beverly and Jean-Luc’s past came into play or, alternately, an AU or MU story. I’ve combined the most inspiring bits of both requests and think I’ve come up with an AU tale where the past we know is very much changed and yet our couple faces many of the same trials and challenges with which we’re familiar. I hope this is the sort of thing you were looking for, CAMIR and that you enjoy it! Merry Christmas!

He was still in the escape pod when he came to. His head ached and his left arm was numb from the elbow down. The frosty air around him was both exhilarating and suffocating and he gasped for breath. As his eyesight came into focus, he realized that the front window of the pod was blanketed in whiteness. His brain was as numb as his arm, it seemed because it took him several moments to realize what it was: snow.

He tried to open the back door of the shuttle with no success. Craning his neck backwards to look over his shoulder, the reason became clear. The entire back of the pod was crumpled. It must have lost almost half a meter in length in the crash, he mused. In a burst of thought, he remembered the emergency hatch on the roof and jabbed his elbow into the hatch release, ducking as a load of snow fell through the new opening. Teeth chattering, he shook the snow off of his head, a wave of nausea washing over him. Some of the frozen precipitation slid down the back of his shirt but he paid it no attention, so cold already that it hadn’t made much of a difference.

Holding his injured arm limply at his side, he climbed onto his seat and hoisted himself out of the hole in the roof using the chair back to support most of his weight. It was a difficult task given his injury and once he was out, he had to lie back against the pod’s hull and catch his breath.

A cold breeze nearly bowled him over when he stood but he blinked against it and pressed into the wind. He was in a forest, trees stripped bare of their leaves by the wintery cold. The first few staggering steps were difficult, but after a few moments, he began to regain control of his gait.

He walked a ways through the woods, ducking under barren tree branches before he realized that he was being foolish. He was ambling aimlessly. At this rate, he would be hypothermic long before any help reached him. He was going to have to be proactive. Turning in a slow circle, he surveyed his surroundings. Up ahead he spotted a clearing, perhaps even the edge of the woods. Yes, it must be the edge. If he squinted he could just make out the shape of a building, and a large one at that. All he had to do was make it that far and perhaps he was saved.

And so he staggered on, feet numbing in his boots, which were most certainly not designed for extended periods in below-freezing temperatures. His head pounded with each step and he had to stop once or twice for fear that he was going to vomit. His vision blurred, but he pressed on.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but must only have been minutes, he came to the edge of the woods. The building he had spotted lay only a few meters away. To reach it, he had only to pass through a field of what looked to be little hills in the snow. They were odd little hills, though, arranged in neat, tidy rows. The archaeologist that usually inhabited part of his brain whispered to him that they were not a natural feature of the landscape, but his thinking was so dulled that he had almost reached the edifice before he realized that they were tombstones. His stomach roiled as he looked up at the stone building. He breathed a sigh of realization. It was a church.

Walking up to the side of the building, he used the thick stones to prop himself up. He traced the footprint of the structure to a set of stairs and pulled himself up using the wrought iron hand-railing. Fresh snow had begun to swirl around him by the time he pushed through the rustic wood door. He dragged himself up the center aisle and collapsed into a pew in the back row.

He could hardly remember the last time he’d been in a church. His Aunt Adele’s funeral, he imagined. He had been about twelve at the time. There had been stained glass, a series of panels depicting the great martyrs of France. It had frightened him at the time, emotionless faces on bodies twisted and contorted grotesquely. They had seemed unnatural but he had loved the way the sun shone through them, creating mosaic patterns of brightly-colored light on the chapel’s stone floor. If he closed his eyes, he was back there, the heavy scent of burning candles surrounding him, his father’s off-key voice droning out the long-forgotten words to some hymn or other. The lilting voices and the suffocating perfumed air and the dancing lights were enveloping him, drawing him down into their depths, into sleep until a loud bang jolted him into awareness.

His breath came in pants and he groaned at the sweaty sick feeling that rolled through him as he rolled over. Someone had lit a candle on the altar, one single flame burning in a little glass jar. Had it been there when he came in? He couldn’t remember, hadn’t noticed. His body had begun to tingle, heat flushing through his limbs as they thawed.

Then, suddenly, warm hands slid around his back, lifting him. In the absence of the hard wood of the pew beneath him, he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………............

The first conscious thought that drifted through his mind was that he was surrounded by warmth. It was almost stifling and he tried desperately to push off whatever was pressing down on him. A steady pair of hands settled themselves on his chest, gently pushing back against him and he could hear a soft shushing sound.

 

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a roughly-hewn wooden ceiling. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he fought to take in enough oxygen. A thick woolen blanket covered him and a fluffy down comforter lay over that. Shifting, he confirmed his suspicion that he was quite naked beneath the covers.

 

The fingers that pressed against his chest, coaxing him to lie back against the pillow beneath his head were long and slender. They were the fingers of a woman. For the first time, he looked up.

 

"Beverly," he breathed.

 

She removed her hands from his chest. "I almost didn't believe it was you, Jean-Luc." She pressed her lips together and got to her feet. "It is, though, isn't it?"

 

"Yes." He nodded slightly, uncertain as to how his head would respond to the action. "It's me. What's left of me, anyway. How did I get here?"

 

"I was hoping you could tell me. I found you in the church."

 

That he remembered. "I was trying to get out of the snow. It was so cold. I...I crashed"

 

Beverly's face brightened in understanding. "That was you, then. I heard something. I wasn't sure what it was." The fire in the large stone fireplace crackled as she prodded the logs with a heavy iron poker. "You had a broken arm," she said, speaking more to the fire than to him, "and a concussion. You had me worried for a while there. I couldn't keep you conscious."

 

That explained the nausea and the blurred vision, then. A terrifying thought occurred to him. "How long have I been here?"

 

Beverly stood, brushing imaginary dirt from her hands and walked to the window. "Only a day and a half." Drawing the curtains apart, she peered out and Jean-Luc took the opportunity to really look at her for the first time.

 

The years since he had last seen her had been kind to her. Her hair was redder than he remembered and he wondered idly if she was dyeing it. Perhaps she had simply dyed it before. He didn't really know. It was wilder too, somehow, as though she had given up on taming it. It suited her, Jean-Luc thought.

 

"You know where you are, then." It wasn't a question or even a statement, but almost more of a regret.

 

Jean-Luc pushed himself upright, leaning against the back of the couch and keeping the blankets drawn to his chin. He didn't know where he was, through presumably, he should. Looking around and giving the matter a bit of thought, realization dawned.

"I'm on Caldos, aren't I?"

 

She nodded her response, gaze still fixed out the window. Jean-Luc wondered if it wasn't so much that she was looking at something as looking away from him. He couldn't say he blamed her; to say they hadn't parted on good terms was something of an understatement.

 

"Didn't you mean to come here?" She turned back to him, eyebrows creased in confusion.

 

Running a hand over his bare scalp, he tried to remember. "No, I don't think so. I've been on an archaeological expedition with an old professor of mine from the Academy. We were on an Yridian freighter headed for Kurl when the captain and his crew attacked us. Professor Galen was vaporized and I managed to get to an escape pod. They disabled the pod from their ship and I crash landed in the woods. I managed to make it to the church and that's the last thing I remember before I woke up here."

 

Beverly was silent for some time. "That's quite a story." She came to him and reached for his injured arm, un-wrapping the bandages. "I heard you had left Starfleet. I had a difficult time believing it. I've never even seen you out of uniform until yesterday."

 

He winced as her fingers pressed into the flesh of his forearm. It felt better than it had the day before but far from normal. “You said it was broken?”

“Transverse fracture. You were lucky-it’s healed up cleanly. I went ahead and knitted it back together for you. I hope that’s alright. It’ll be sore for a few days, but you should have full use of it already.” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, but began massaging an ointment into the skin.

“Actually, I was planning on keeping the break, thanks.” She glanced up at him, disapproval evident. “What is that? Cucumber?”

She shook her head. “Comfrey. It’ll help the bone. Once this soaks in, I’m going to put some under the bandages, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yes.” He knew next to nothing about modern medicine, let alone herbs. He hadn’t though Beverly was familiar with the latter either but apparently he was wrong.

“I’ve taken care of the concussion with a cellular regenerator. How does your head feel? Any blurred vision or nausea?”

“No, it feels fine. Thank you.”

She gave him a little contented smile as she finished wrapping his arm. He stretched it slightly, testing his limits. The bandage was tight, but not overly so.

While he had been examining his arm, Beverly had made her way to the kitchen. It opened right into the living area and Jean-Luc shifted on the couch to see what she was doing. Her head was in a cabinet and he could hear her rummaging about. One mug sat on the counter and she was elbow deep in the cabinet looking for what he assumed must be a second mug. She succeeded and emerged with the mug.

“Tea?”

Jean-Luc stood, careful to wrap the blankets around himself. “That sounds lovely. Do you think I could get some clothing though?”

Beverly lifted a hand to her mouth, stifling a small laugh. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, I’d forgotten. It’s upstairs. I can go get it for you.”

It was the first time he’d seen her smile yet and it made him smile as well. They had been close, once. It bothered him that they weren’t anymore. He had thought they were friends, but perhaps he had been wrong. Or perhaps there was simply too much history between them. He filled the teapot Beverly had set on the counter with water, an awkward endeavor with his injured arm and the blanket to contend with, and put it on the stove. He was surprised to see that the stove was gas-run. He glanced about for matches and finally found a box nestled in a cabinet. He twiddled the knob on the stove and scrunched his nose as the gas came on. Lighting a match was a little tricky-he hadn't done so in years-but he managed and soon had the kettle in place.

 

"Jean-Luc! I was going to do that, you didn't have to." Beverly hurried down the stairs, his clothing folded in her arms.

 

"It wasn't any bother," he assured. "You've been more than hospitable. It's the least I could do." He took the clothing she offered him. "Is there somewhere I could change?"

 

The bathroom was on the second floor, just at the top of the stairs. The room was neat and tidy, but had enough of a personal touch for Jean-Luc to be fairly certain it was Beverly's private bathroom. Her toothbrush sat alone in a holder with space for four. A single set of towels hung on the towel rack.

 

The whole place made Jean-Luc feel...uneasy. He imagined that divorced couples forced into close quarters must feel something like this. He knew Beverly so well, there was such history and emotion between them, but they had no real connection now outside of that. Oh, the potential was there, but that was all it was likely to be. There were too many ghosts.

 

He dressed hurriedly, glad to have clean clothing for the first time in...well, he could hardly remember. Professor Galen was a wonderful archaeologist but he was single-minded in that pursuit. Jean-Luc's stomach clenched at the thought of his late professor. He'd hardly had time to consider that his mentor was gone. It was something he would need to do for closure but not now. Not here.

 

The kettle was whistling as he made his way back downstairs. "You take yours black, don't you?"

 

Surprised she remembered, he nodded. He sat back on the couch and Beverly carried in a tray with two cups and saucers on it. "I really must thank you, Beverly. I know things aren't exactly..." he clenched his jaw, trying to find the right words, "I won’t pretend that there isn’t a tension between us. It was pure coincidence that I wound up here, but you’ve been incredibly hospitable. You’ve mended me. You’ve washed my clothing. It’s been a long time since anyone has bothered to do any of that for me. Thank you. Sincerely, thank you.”

It was only as her expression softened that Jean-Luc realized how tense Beverly’s face had been. “It’s no problem at all, Jean-Luc. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone around. I’m the only doctor around here, but people tend to keep their distance unless they need something.”

“Why stay?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It’s my grandmother’s house. After Jack died it was…convenient. And the isolation was nice. But it’s been a long time and the company is welcome.”

“I had no idea your grandmother lived all the way out here.”

“She’s always been adventurous. She moved to Arvada III after my parents died and she’s still there. Frontier medicine has always fascinated her and, as remote as Caldos is, Arvada is that much more so.” She spun her mug in her hands, fingers tracing the handle.

Jean-Luc downed the last of his tea and smiled. “So she’s a doctor as well then?”

“A healer. I say it’s the same thing, but we’ve had some disagreements on the matter. She thinks that everything she needs to serve her patients can be found in nature. I agree with her to an extent, but she completely rejects any sort of technological medical convenience, let alone major developments. I think she was a little disappointed when I went into Starfleet, but she’d never admit to it.” She crossed her legs under herself and gazed towards the window.

Jean-Luc nodded his agreement. “It sounds like she and my father would get along well. I was meant to go into the family business. Starships simply were not an option. He’s been far more vocal in his disapproval than your grandmother, though.”

“I’m sorry. It’s never easy to go against the wishes of someone you care about.” They sat in silence, unsure of what to say. “It looks like we’re going to get a real storm tonight.”

“You mean that wasn’t a storm yesterday?”

Beverly laughed and shook her head. “Not at all. The weather control systems have been unreliable for years. It’s worse in the winter. We’ve gotten almost a meter of snow already this year. Tonight’s going to be a big one.”

Jean-Luc frowned. Hospitable as Beverly had been, he hadn’t been planning on staying the night. “I suppose there won’t be any shuttles leaving tonight, then?”

“Shuttles?” Beverly shook her head. “No shuttles. You pretty much have to schedule one yourself if you want to get in or out of here. We’re not on any regular shuttle routes.”

He exhaled heavily. It wasn’t that he’d had plans, per se, when his escape pod had crashed but from the moment he had woken up on Beverly’s couch he had known that he had to get off this planet.

“That’s not what you were hoping to hear, is it?”

“To be quite honest, it’s not.”

“If you’d like, we can put in a shuttle request tomorrow to get you wherever you’re going. You’re welcome to stay here in the meantime.”

To Jean-Luc’s amazement, it sounded more appealing than anything else he could think of.

“Yes, alright.”

Beverly smiled. “Good. I’d like to keep an eye on you, anyway, just in case.” She got to her feet and cleared the tray and tea away. “Well, it’s getting late and you must be hungry. I was planning on soup. Does that sound good?”

They chopped vegetables for the better part of an hour, chatting away aimlessly, catching up. They put the soup on the stove to stew and Beverly went upstairs to take a shower. She returned almost an hour later, hair curling wildly around her shoulders, a vague herbal scent wafting about her. The soup was ready and they ate, mostly in silence. Once they had finished, they cleared the dishes. Beverly washed them while he dried. An ease had settled into their interactions. It was only surface deep, but it was there nonetheless and Jean-Luc found that he liked it.

They retired to the couch and Beverly poured them each a glass of spiced cider. Jean-Luc lazed at the end of the sofa, reveling in the light and warmth of the crackling fire.

He sighed contentedly. “It’s a remarkable life you lead here.”

“It’s not all that remarkable. It’s comfortable, simple, but a bit dull.”

“No, it’s wonderful. It’s almost unreal.” He leaned forward. The heat from the fire made his skin tighten and tingle. “What happened to you, Beverly? How did you wind up here?” As soon as he spoke, he winced. “I didn’t mean that quite how it sounded. It’s just that you had such a promising career with Starfleet. What changed?”

She squinted down at her drink thoughtfully. “It was after Jack died.” Jean-Luc looked away from her. “I was twenty-three years old, in my last semester at the Academy, and widowed. Jack’s death was so sudden and so meaningless that I couldn’t stomach going out there. Every person I knew, everyone I was close to was in Starfleet. All the relationships I would be able to have if I stayed would be with people in Starfleet. It was all too tenuous. I could have done it but…I didn’t want to. It sounds petty, I know.”

“Not at all. I understand the feeling. One always hears about the heroic deaths, officers who die in glorious ways, but it doesn’t always happen that way.”

“What about you? I wouldn’t have ever expected you to leave Starfleet.”

He supposed it was a fair question. It wasn’t one that he wanted to answer, but he supposed it was the least he could do. Beverly had been extraordinarily open with him, he owed her the same. “I suppose Jack’s death was the trigger. I had never lost someone under my command whom I was as close to as I was to Jack.” He paused, wondering whether he should continue. Everything he had told her thus far was the truth, but it was far from the whole story. “That wasn’t really it, though. This is going to sound absurd.”

Beverly’s eyes were on him. “No, go on.”

“Almost as soon as Jack died, I was overcome by the feeling that everything was…wrong somehow. It was as though the universe had been hit by something enormous and knocked off-course. I tried to…deal with it for several years but it just got worse. I began to feel that there was something more out there, something I was missing.

“I was at the Academy one day visiting an old professor of mine. He was leaving his teaching position to set out on an exploratory expedition.”

“Professor Galen?” Beverly asked softly.

Jean-Luc nodded. “He told me that he had a theory, a profound hypothesis that, if we could only prove it, would change the way the universe was understood.” He stared at the fire as he spoke, entranced. “It sounded exactly like what I needed. I resigned from Starfleet and Professor Galen and I set out.” He blinked and looked over at Beverly. “That was almost three years ago. That’s why I have to get back out there, even with the professor gone. I can’t help but feel that if I don’t find the answers I’ll go mad.”

Silence fell between them as he finished, filled only by the popping of the logs in the fireplace and the melancholy howl of some far-off animal in the woods.

It was the first time he had ever told anyone. Even Professor Galen had no idea why Jean-Luc had signed on for the expedition. He had simply assumed it was Jean-Luc’s love of the past re-asserting itself after having been trapped for so long behind the façade of a starship captain. Jean-Luc couldn’t deny that, perhaps, that was part of it, but this hungering ache within him was what had compelled him.

Sometimes he dreamed. He saw people, events, things that had never happened, would never happen and when he awoke he was left with the unsettling feeling that rather than waking from a dream to reality, it was the other way around. These occurrences had become more and more common since he had left Starfleet, which he had originally taken as a sign that he had made the right decision, that he was getting closer to his answer.

But then he had begun to dream of himself, again a captain of a sleek, elegant starship. Space called out to him. He needed to command, to lead rather than to be shuttled from place to place on freighters and cargo ships. Recently, Jean-Luc had become conflicted. He couldn’t tell anymore what it was that he wanted or where he was meant to be. As time went on, everything became worse. The universe was wrong and it was spiraling more and more out of control by the second. Solving the professor’s riddle had become imperative.

Having reached the end of his train of thought, Jean-Luc looked up at Beverly. She was gazing at him, a strange look in her eyes. It wasn’t pity, nor was it sympathy nor empathy nor anything else he could readily identify. He was beginning to feel as though he had a large smudge of soot across his nose or was sprouting hair.

Finally she shook her head and looked away. “More cider?”

Jean-Luc could do little more than blink stupidly at her. He had never told anyone that before and all Beverly could do was ask him if he wanted more cider? At least she didn’t think he was insane. But still…he would have liked some response. “Yes, that would be-“

Suddenly, Beverly was leaning forward, crawling across the couch on all fours. She sat next to him and stared at him for a moment and then she leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth. Her lips were chapped and rough against his, but pliant. It took him a moment to respond but it had been so long since he had even thought about kissing a woman that when she pressed more insistently against him he couldn’t help falling into rhythm. His tongue prodded her lower lip and she opened her mouth to him.

Her tongue was warm and slick against his and she tasted like the cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves she had stewed in the cider. Her responses were over-eager and hesitant in turns and he could tell she was almost as out of practice at this as he was.

And that brought his brain to a screeching halt. He grabbed Beverly’s shoulders, debating whether to pull her closer or push her away. He chose the latter. “I’m sorry, Beverly, I can’t.”

She stood quickly and spun away from him, a hand tangling in her hair. “Oh, god,” she groaned. “God, Jean-Luc, I’m sorry. I…just forget I…” She exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, if you don’t need anything, I’m going to go to bed.”

He hardly had time to get to his feet before he heard her steps on the stairs and her bedroom door click shut.

Silently, he gathered the cider glasses and dumped the dregs down the sink. Back in the living room, he fluffed a throw pillow and spread out the blankets Beverly had neatly folded and placed in front of the fire.

Jean-Luc lay alone on the couch as the night wore on, silence pressing in on him save the occasional slumping sound of snow falling from the roof. His thoughts roamed and he felt the guilt and the uncertainty wash through him. He had sworn to himself never to do what he just had, never to even think about doing it. And yet he had. He had kissed Beverly and, god, he wanted more. Up until Beverly had kissed him, Jean-Luc had been so certain that he was past this, that it really had been nothing more than infatuation. Oh, but it wasn’t, not at all. The worst part was that it had felt so right.

Well, it wasn’t going to go any further. His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled heavily and he turned on his side facing the window. Hypnotized by the swirling of heavy snow outside he finally fell asleep.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The scent of something baking woke Beverly. Her fire had gone out during the night and the room was frosty. She was considering rolling over and going back to sleep beneath her heavy duvet, but then she remembered Jean-Luc. Groaning, she rolled over onto her stomach, pulling her pillow over her head.

What had she been thinking? There hadn’t even been alcohol in the cider. What had possessed her? Was she really that lonely? At least Jean-Luc had had the sense to stop.

It was just that, hearing his story, she hadn’t been able to help herself. She knew exactly how Jean-Luc felt. Not firsthand, of course, but the story was familiar. She had considered telling him about it last night but the timing had felt all wrong. In retrospect, kissing him hadn’t been the best alternative, but she had simply been overcome by the urge.

She hoped it was just that he was a familiar face. When she had first moved to Caldos, everything had been wonderful. The colonists came to see her when they needed something, but other than that, she had been left alone to grieve in peace. But it had been six years now and she was lonely.

When she had found Jean-Luc in the chapel she’d hardly believed it. For so long she had been angry with him. Not for Jack’s dying under his command, but for cutting ties once Jack was gone. She had thought they were friends, but apparently she had been the only one. There were times over the past few years when she had wondered if they could have been even more than that. But Jean-Luc had left the funeral without so much as a farewell and the next time she’d seen him he had been slipping into unconsciousness with a broken arm and a concussion. She had been hurt, but they had begun to get along so well again. And then she had ruined everything. She groaned.

She was going to have to go downstairs. He was going to be here for several more days. They were going to have to make the best of things. She should tell him about Jack’s journals, she decided. Even if they were of no help to Jean-Luc at all, they might give him something to do until they could get him a shuttle.

The floorboards were like ice beneath her bare feet and she hurried to the closet. She shoved on a pair of slippers and slid her robe on over her camisole and flannel pants. Hardly sparing a glance in the mirror, she slipped out of her room and down the stairs.

Jean-Luc was at the stove again. Beverly came up behind him, close enough to smell what he was cooking. “Good morning.” He started and turned around quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It smells wonderful. What is it?”

“Toast.” He stepped aside so she could see the few slices of bread he had in a skillet. “French toast, I suppose. I hope you slept well.”

Beverly hoisted herself up to sit on the countertop next to the sink. “Is this yours?” She gestured to a cup of tea. Jean-Luc shook his head and held up his own mug. “I did. The couch wasn’t too uncomfortable, was it?”

“It was perfect. I put some more wood on the fire. It was getting low.”

She nodded. As she looked over him, her stomach churned, unsettled and uneasy. “About last night, Jean-Luc-“

“It’s forgotten, Beverly. It was late, we were tired. Things happen, but it’s no reason for us to get uncomfortable.” Beverly nodded. “How about some breakfast?”

Sliding off the counter, she held out first one plate and then the other, while Jean-Luc forked the toast and some eggs out of the skillet. Beverly flinched at the scraping noise the chair legs made on the wooden floor as they pulled them away from the table and sat.

“I’ve been thinking about what you were saying last night.”

“Oh?” He looked a little frightened, as though she had finally realized that he was insane.

“I have something I think you’d like to read. Even if it isn’t helpful, it might keep you busy until we can get a shuttle.” She cut her toast into even little squares and poured syrup on top, just enough to pool around the bread but not spread to the eggs. “Jack felt the same way as you do.”

Jean-Luc paused, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

Beverly sighed. “I don’t think he ever mentioned it to anyone but me. Jack was extraordinarily perceptive. It’s why he went into the sciences to begin with. For as long as I knew him, Jack was convinced that something was going to go wrong with the universe. We all take temporal mechanics at the Academy, we all know how fragile the universe is. I get that. I don’t pretend to fully comprehend it, but I understand the general concept. Jack, though…Jack understood. He was absolutely certain that something was going to happen to disrupt the timeline. He said he could feel it, hear it coming.”

Jean-Luc’s fork clanked on the plate. “Surely he would have mentioned…” Beverly shrugged.

“He made temporal disruptions something of a hobby. It was all he researched in his spare time for years. He used to say that he didn’t think he would ever quite grasp it, but he did love trying.”

“You said you had something for me to read?”

“Jack kept journals.”

His eyes widened. “And you, you still have them?”

“Yes, in the attic somewhere, I think. I might have to do a bit of rummaging, but I know they’re up there. I’ll bring them down for you once we finish eating, if you want.”

“Well, I… I will admit I am fascinated. But I wouldn’t want to intrude. Journals are a very personal, private thing.”

Touched by his concern, she shook her head. “It’s alright. I’ve read them, there isn’t anything scandalous in them. Besides, I think privacy is one of those things that should be reserved for the living. The dead don’t mind if we poke around a little. It’s expected.”

“It wasn’t Jack’s privacy I was worried about.”

Beverly flushed. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

And she didn’t, not really. Jack was an old part of her life. When she had been with him, she had been a different person than she was today. For Jean-Luc to read about the old Beverly would be like him listening to her grandmother tell stories about her childhood: it might reveal some embarrassing insights, but it wasn’t anything overly invasive or personal.

Once they had finished eating, Beverly went upstairs to get dressed and Jean-Luc slipped into the bathroom to shower. She was going to have to replace the bandages on his arm again, she realized as she pulled on a pair of stiff denim trousers. Typically, she wore a skirt but it would collect too much dust in the attic. The pants were a relic from her Academy days and she was a more than a little pleased to find that they still fit all these years later. Doing up the last button on her blouse, she searched for a tie for her hair.

She was pulling it into a snug ponytail at the base of her neck when the shower water stopped. Apparently Jean-Luc didn’t like to lounge. Had it been her, she would have spent hours under the steaming spray letting the water work out all the kinks in her muscles until her skin would turn pink and tender and she would have to get out. He had to be sore from the crash. While he had been unconscious, Beverly had followed his footprints from the church into the woods, a difficult task with the snow steadily filling them. She had found the escape pod quite easily once she had made it to the woods, its mangled wreckage steaming and hissing in the cold. He was lucky to have survived.

Before heading up to the attic, she pulled on a tall pair of boots. The last thing she felt like doing in this weather was walking around in the un-insulated, un-heated attic in her bare feet. She walked as quietly as she could down the hall from her bedroom, hating the way the heels of her shoes clacked on the wood floor. Jean-Luc was rustling around in the bathroom, and she passed by the door without comment. It was a bit unsettling to think about the fact that he was naked no more than a meter away from her.

Having a man in the house again after so long was strange. Beverly had found herself reacting peculiarly to his presence. The kiss the night before loomed in the forefront of her mind and she batted the thought away. It returned, though. In the light of day and the presence of mind that came with wakefulness, it wasn’t as intimidating a thought.

What confused her was her motivation. Had it been someone other than Jean-Luc there, some stranger with the same story, would she have done it? She couldn’t say, but somehow she doubted it. She had been so pleased to see Jean-Luc again. Aside from Jack, she had felt closest to Jean-Luc during her Academy days and he had simply disappeared on her. Having him back in her life, even for a short period of time, had been a wonderful prospect. She had been hostile towards him initially and, while she regretted it, she couldn’t really blame herself. Until she had heard his explanation, she had been angry. He had left her when she needed support most and it had hurt.

The possibility that she had feelings for Jean-Luc was something that had occurred to her before. It hadn’t been important when Jack was alive because she and Jack had been so utterly in love. Yes, it had been young love, impossibly foolish and impetuous and loyal, but even through that, Jean-Luc had slipped past her blinders and wormed his way into her affections. Once Jack had died, Jean-Luc had gone as well and Beverly had been so devastated by both losses that she had stopped thinking of the starship captain.

Sighing, she opened the door at the end of the hallway, revealing a rickety old set of wooden stairs. She ascended them in the darkness, treading carefully. Her fingers felt the air before her and closed on a string as she neared the top of the stairs. She pulled on it and a lone light flared to life, illuminating the space.

Beverly groaned a bit at the sight. The attic was piled high with boxes and she hadn’t the faintest idea which ones had Jack’s things in them. She had a vague feeling that they were over by the window. Whether they were or not was a different story entirely, but it seemed as good a place as any to start. And so she did.

She had no idea how much time had passed before Jean-Luc came up the stairs, but she started at the sound of his footsteps and got to her feet, brushing dust off her pants.

“Any luck?” She hadn’t realized that his voice had been hoarse before. It must have been though, because it didn’t sound at all like it had even that morning. The steam from the shower must have relaxed his vocal cords. The deep, rich sound made her ears feel drunk-not a falling down, sick sort of drunk, but the sort of drunk that Beverly enjoyed, where her head spun and almost anything felt possible.

“Not yet. Most of this is Nana’s but still…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured to the stacks of boxes around her.

“Would you like help? What sort of things might they be packed with?”

She pushed a stack of boxes away from the window seat and patted it. “I haven’t a clue, Jean-Luc. I think I have it under control, but I could use some company.” He sat awkwardly on the window seat, crossing his legs rather formally. “It’s usually more comfortable if you sit long-ways,” she suggested. He moved so that his back was to the wall, legs extended towards her.

“Did you bring all this from Earth?” he asked, looking around warily as Beverly crawled over to the box she had been rummaging through.

“Some of it. The rest is Nana’s and my parents’. One of these days I should really go through it and toss out all the things I don’t need. It’s amazing how many things people accumulate over their lives, isn’t it?”

Jean-Luc made a funny sound of agreement in his throat. “When my mother passed away, my father boxed up all her things and stowed them away. When he died, my brother did the same with all my father’s things. I seriously hope neither Robert nor I die anytime soon or we won’t have any room left in the house at all.” He frowned, as though he knew that had come out a bit darker than intended.

Beverly closed the box she had just finished digging through and moved on to the next. A smile broke across her face as soon as she had pried the flaps open. “You must be good luck. Here we are.”

She pulled a stack of leather-bound books from the depths of the box. Jean-Luc rose from his seat and crouched next to her, pulling out a stack himself. “Beverly, there are dozens of these.”

“Jack was very thorough. If it’s any consolation, he did have large handwriting. And there are drawings and diagrams and all sorts of things like that. But you will have plenty to keep you occupied.”

They took the journals downstairs and Jean-Luc immediately set them on the coffee table. Beverly sat next to him on the couch and the set about putting the journals in chronological order. They made quick work of it and Jean-Luc settled into the sofa and began to read.

Beverly left him to himself, re-locating to the kitchen. There wasn’t much that she needed to do around the house and she decided that it was as good a time as any to re-organize her stock of plants and herbs. The colony was rapidly coming up on flu season and she had a suspicion that she was running low on quite a few necessary items.

Aside from that, though, she was getting distracted. Her brain kept shifting to Jean-Luc and he was about the last thing she thought she needed to be spending extended periods of time thinking about. He was only here for a short time. He had a mission, a calling and it would do her no good to get attached to him again only to have him leave.

Beverly closed her eyes and leaned back against her counter. She was damaged, that much she knew. Everyone she had loved in her life, everyone who had truly loved her back was gone. She was so very, very lonely but the thought of opening herself up enough to let someone in was beyond terrifying, especially someone who had already left her once. She didn’t think she could handle the loss, even the possibility of loss. It was emotionally paralyzing but she couldn’t get beyond it.

Idly, she wondered if perhaps Jean-Luc and Jack were right, if this wasn’t at all the way things were supposed to be. Surely she wasn’t meant to live like this, alone and too afraid to change it. Maybe Jack was supposed to be alive, maybe her parents weren’t supposed to be dead, maybe.... Maybe she was just being silly. This was her life and it was what it was.

She wasn’t even certain that she bought into the idea that there was a way the world was supposed to be. Wasn’t the world exactly what it was, no more and no less? It was so tempting to believe that perhaps everything that had gone so horribly awry in her life was some giant cosmic mistake that could be set right, but she didn’t know if she could carry on believing that. It was easier to accept that things had happened because that was simply the way things had turned out.

Frightened as she was, though, she felt herself being drawn to Jean-Luc. It was becoming more and more evident to her that she hadn’t kissed him on accident or on some whim. She wanted to be with him in a way that she hadn’t wanted anyone since Jack had died. The overwhelming urge she felt towards him was a little frightening in its intensity, now that she recognized it.

It was silly of her, really. He had pushed her away last night when she had kissed him. He didn’t want to be with her and there was no sense in pining after him if that was the case. Of course, Beverly knew that this was easier said than done, but she was going to have to try. There wasn’t another option.

She straightened up and began her inventory.


	2. Part II

When Beverly had said that Jack was thorough, Jean-Luc had been pleased. He had been anxious and excited to see how closely Jack’s experiences had lined up with his own. Now, though, he was entirely overwhelmed. “Thorough” had been an exorbitant understatement.

He had been reading for most of the afternoon. Rays of sunlight were just beginning to peek through the windows on the back side of Beverly’s small cottage and his eyes were crossing from deciphering Jack’s admittedly large but messy handwriting. It had been years since Jean-Luc had read anything written by hand and it was taking its toll on his eyes.

He felt something on the other end of the couch and looked up to see Beverly. She had changed into a long skirt and boots with a heavy jacket and had a thick woolen scarf wrapped about her neck. “Going somewhere?”

“I’ve got to go collect a few plants in the woods. I thought you might want a break from reading.”

It sounded tempting, but Jean-Luc didn’t know whether spending that much time alone with Beverly without something to distract him was a good idea. Every so often reading Jack’s journals, he had come across a passage about Beverly. He hadn’t thought about her in so long that he had forgotten. It was coming rushing back to him now, though.

“It sounds lovely, Beverly, but I think perhaps I should stay here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

“Nonsense, Jean-Luc. If you keep reading any more of that, your head is going start acting up again. Come on, doctor’s orders.” She stood and proffered a thick coat at him.

He rolled his eyes, but then smiled so she knew he was only teasing and got to his feet. “There you go.” She strode purposefully towards the door. “You can hold the basket.”

After Professor Galen had dragged him to Delta Vega last year, Jean-Luc hadn’t thought that he would ever be pleased to see snow again, but today he found the crunch of the white blanket beneath his boots rather satisfying. It wasn’t terribly cold, near freezing but there wasn’t wind.

Before they had left, Beverly had shoved a willow basket into his hands and he felt a bit like a child trudging behind his mother on a shopping run. But then Beverly stopped and turned back to him, waiting until he caught up. She slid her arm through his and they walked on in step with one another. “So what are we looking for?”

“Elderberry and stinging nettle.”

“And what do those do?”

“Elderberry is good for flu season. It shortens the duration of the flu.” She stopped near a tree and plucked a tiny sprig from a bush. “This is what it looks like. It gets these gorgeous flowers in the springtime, but it’s a little dull looking in the winter. Just as useful, though.”

“And the stinging nettle? We had them all around the vineyard when I was growing up. My brother Robert was climbing a tree and fell into a patch of them once.”

Beverly winced.

“Needless to say, I was amused for days. The stinging went away, but he was red and blotchy for quite a while afterwards.”

She laughed brightly. “Well, nettle can do all sorts of things aside from providing entertainment. I’ll assume you know what it looks like though. Some of the colonists are getting on in years and I mostly keep it around to help with rheumatism and arthritis in the winter. It can have diuretic functions, raise testosterone levels and I’ve even heard of people using it to treat prostate problems before.”

“Well, that’s good news for Robert then, isn’t it?”

They fell silent and walked along slowly, stopping here and there to snap a few stems and sprigs off of plants. The basket slowly filled and Jean-Luc found his thoughts beginning to wander back to Jack’s journals.

What he had read thus far was absolutely remarkable. Jack’s experiences had been very different from his own, but their conclusions were strikingly similar. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong and it needed to be fixed. Of course, Jack’s feelings had been premonitory while Jean-Luc’s were reactionary, but that didn’t change the fact that what Jean-Luc had been feeling was legitimate. Either that or he and Jack were both equally insane. A proponent of Occam’s Razor, Jean-Luc had to stand by the former interpretation.

It made his stomach ache a little to know that his time with Professor Galen had been a waste. The professor’s quest had been a thrilling one…for him. Jean-Luc had been kept in the dark about the majority of the work they were doing, a field assistant and little more. When he had thought it was helping him answer the questions he had, Jean-Luc hadn’t minded, but now…it seemed useless. The professor was dead and Jean-Luc had neither the knowledge nor the resources nor the desire, really, to finish the work.

He glanced at Beverly. She was stooped, picking up a small branch of what Jean-Luc now recognized as elderberry. As she stood back up, she turned and saw him watching her.

“Are you getting cold?” she asked, holding out her hand for the basket.

He handed it over and shrugged. “I’m fine.” Truth be told, he was getting a mite chilly but he could handle being outside a while longer.

“I suppose we have enough anyway. We’ll go back.”

When they turned, Jean-Luc was surprised at how far from Beverly’s little cottage they were. It looked rather picturesque in the distance, smoke curling daintily from the chimney. Their footprints were crisp in the deep snow, a trail leading back to the house.

“How are the journals?”

“They’re fascinating. Jack went through the exact same thing that I am.” Jean-Luc turned and looked at her.

She chewed the inside of her cheek and looked at the ground as she walked. “He never really talked to me about it. I could see it sometimes in his eyes though. It was…unsettling. Do you think it would have driven him crazy?”

“No,” he said after thinking a moment. “Jack knew that something was coming but he accepted that. He loved you, Beverly.”

“You mentioned that you had dreams about things that weren’t true.” She glanced sidelong at him from under her eyelashes.

Ah, so that was it. “Anything in particular you want to know about? Not that I’m an expert or anything. Time is always in flux.”

“Was Jack supposed to die?”

Jean-Luc paused, unsure of the answer. “Yes. It wasn’t supposed to be like that, but yes, I think he was.”

“How do you know that?”

“This will sound crazy, but I have memories of him, memories of you that never happened. I suppose they aren’t really memories, but I have them.” He sighed, his breath a puff of steam in the frosty air. He wasn’t sure whether he should say more, but he decided he should. “You and he had a son. Jack still dies, but you have a son.”

Beverly stopped in the snow. Jean-Luc could see her heavy breaths dissipating in the air before him. “That sounds nice. What about you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not supposed to be an arcaheologist, I can tell you that. And you aren’t supposed to be living here, Beverly. It’s all wrong.”

They walked the last few meters to her cabin and stamped the snow off their boots on the porch. Before they went inside, Beverly grasped Jean-Luc’s arm. “Even if you could do something about it, who’s to say that this timeline is wrong, that that one’s right?”

“I see your point. What’s to say that this timeline hasn’t been disrupted hundreds of times by now. I don’t know. This feels wrong, though. If I can do something about that, I’ve got to.”

Beverly nodded and they walked inside.

The warmth of the cabin made Jean-Luc’s nose and ears tingle sharply. He sneezed.

“I hope you’re not catching a cold.” She went to the fire and tossed a log on. “I’m going to have to chop some more wood tomorrow. Oh, did you want to call about a shuttle?”

He thought for a moment then went and crouched next to her at the fireplace. “If it’s alright with you, I’d rather wait.”

A wide smile broke out across her face. “As long as you need, Jean-Luc. As long as you need.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The longer he was there, it turned out, the longer Jean-Luc needed to wait. Perhaps needed wasn’t quite the right word, he thought to himself. It was more than he had become utterly enchanted: with this life, with the information he was getting from Jack, with Caldos, but, most importantly, with Beverly.

Jean-Luc had always known on an intellectual level that love was a fluid thing. His love for his mother wasn’t the same as his love for his father, and neither was the same as his love for Robert or for Jack or for Walker and none of those were the same as one another.

He also knew that love was a transitory thing. He had been absolutely head over heels with Laurinda McClymonds his first semester at the Academy. He pined over her from afar, praying nightly that she would notice him for if she didn’t he was surely going to die. They would get married, he decided, and travel the stars together with their three children. She would be the chief engineer, he would be the captain and life would be perfect. Of course she had finally noticed him and, after a month or so of dating Jean-Luc had realized that he hadn’t been in love with Laurinda so much as in love with the idea of Laurinda. She was a lovely girl, but she hadn’t been able to live up to the fantasy he had projected on her.

So, Jean-Luc’s scientific brain had developed a concept of love based upon his past experiences with it. When, many years later, he had fallen in love with his best friend’s girlfriend, then financée, then wife, he had applied that definition. Yes, he loved Beverly. But so did Jack and Jack was marrying her and the love he had for Jack was more important. What Jean-Luc felt for Beverly, he assumed, was a product of the fact that he couldn’t have her. He was certain that ten, fifteen years down the line he wouldn’t feel the same way about her.

It came as something of a surprise to him to find that, almost a decade later, he felt exactly as much in love with Beverly as he had the day Jack had died, which was saying quite a lot indeed. She was different, to be sure. The years had been kind to Beverly’s appearance, but they had wreaked havoc on the rest of her. Jean-Luc had realized early on in his stay how profoundly lonely Beverly was. She had retreated after Jack’s death, pulled away from the world in fear of it hurting her again. It had taken her time to heal, but now that she had, she was ready to become part of life again and life had passed her by.

It was tragic, really. Jean-Luc didn’t feel sorry for Beverly or pity her. That wasn’t it at all. He admired her fortitude. It may simply have been his bias peeking through, but he thought that the entire situation was the result of things having gotten off track. Beverly wasn’t supposed to be like this, she wasn’t supposed to have gone through any of this. It was that more than anything that further convinced him that he needed to set things straight. If he didn’t, things were just going to keep getting worse.

He cleared his throat and got to his feet, shutting the journal he’d just finished. It was the last one. He laid it atop the stack on Beverly’s coffee table and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. His head hurt from reading and he needed to get out of the house. The water was comforting, but his eyes felt dense and puffy.

Grabbing the overcoat Beverly had brought back from town for him, he went outside and grabbed the hand axe Beverly kept in a box on the porch. They needed more firewood. There was a large pile of logs on the side of the house and he set to work on them.

He hadn’t been physically active enough lately, that was his problem. His mind had been so occupied by Jack’s writings that he had neglected his body. It was such a rhythmic act, swinging the axe, hitting the wood, feeling it split beneath his blade. He hadn’t done anything like this in a long, long time and he loved the sensation. As he chopped, his mind wandered freely.

The sky darkened around him, blue fading to pink and finally to a deep indigo before he noticed. He wiped his forehead and set the axe down, his breath wafting around him in a cloud of water vapor.

A soft sound behind him drew his attention, and he turned. Beverly leaned against the side of the house, arms crossed, smiling when he caught her eye. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome. We were running short and I needed to get out of the house for a while.”

“I told you that you should have come with me.” She tugged her shawl closer around her shoulders with one hand and lifted a basket in the other. “Mrs. Manchan gave us a pot roast when I dropped off her rheumatism poultice.”

Jean-Luc liked being part of an ‘us’. He wasn’t sure when that had happened last, but it was nice.

“I’ll carry some of this wood in and we’ll eat?”

Beverly nodded. “Sounds good to me. I am absolutely famished. I must have walked ten miles today.”

Jean-Luc gathered as much wood into his arms as he could and followed her back around the edge of the house. Under the weight of the wood, he staggered a bit and missed the bottom stair, dropping a few pieces. Pausing a moment, he decided he would pick them up later and marched through the door that Beverly was holding open for him.

“Very graceful, Jean-Luc.”

He pursed his lips at her. “Thank you. Do you want help with the food?”

“Nope. Breakfast is your responsibility, dinner is mine. You could set the table, though, if you’re feeling helpful.”

And so he did. They had settled into a remarkably comfortable routine in the pas fewt weeks. A level of tension still underpinned their interactions, but they had both become practiced at pretending it wasn’t there. There was familiarity, but Jean-Luc was wary of getting too familiar. That was dangerous territory. He had promised himself years ago that he would keep to himself when it came to Beverly. He knew he wouldn’t be offending Jack, but given how long his feelings for Beverly had existed he wasn’t sure he was comfortable going there with her. He wanted to, he did. More than anything, practically, but he just wasn’t sure he could justify it.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Beverly told him about the patients she’d been to visit and he mused about what he’d read in Jack’s notebooks. The pot roast was spectacular, warm and tender and flavorful. A perfect evening.

Afterwards, they sat in the living room, as had become their custom. Tonight was different, though. Beverly seemed warmer, more open. She sat on the couch with him, which wasn’t entirely unusual in and of itself, but tonight she was close enough for him to be able to reach out and touch her.

She sat, quietly, staring into the roaring fire for some time before she finally spoke. “Jean-Luc, can I ask you a question?”

His stomach churned nervously, but he nodded his assent.

“That first night, when I kissed you?” She waited for him to acknowledge and then carried on. “You pushed me away. Why?”

Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn’t it. No, this was far, far worse. What could he say? He stared at his hands a moment in thought then sighed. “I…I don’t know if I can answer that honestly, Beverly. Not without dredging up things that I’m not sure it’s best we dredge up.”

“Give it a shot, Jean-Luc. Please?” She fixed him with a hard stare. Her jaw was set tightly; the muscles that controlled it were prominent and tight. This was a Beverly he hadn’t seen before and he wasn’t sure what to make of her.

He pressed his lips together tightly then nodded once, his mind made up. “I made myself a promise that I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what, tell me?”

“No, that I wouldn’t kiss you.” He hoped that was all he was going to have to say and she would leave it at that. He wasn’t that lucky.

“That seems a rather specific promise unless there was a reason for it.” She lifted her eyebrows, waiting.

He massaged his forehead with his fingers and sighed. “Guilt, I suppose.”

She scoffed lightly. “Guilt? Over what?”

He closed his eyes. “I never wanted to have to tell you this.”

“It’s alright, Jean-Luc; you don’t need to. I didn’t mean to pry.”

His hands were shaking and his insides along with them. As the words left his mouth, it was almost as though another person was speaking.

“I was in love with you. Almost from the start, the whole time you and Jack were together. It was wrong. Beyond wrong. When he died, I promised myself-” He broke off, shaking his head.

He wanted to get up and run upstairs, outside, anywhere but here.

But then Beverly was crawling towards him on the couch. She stopped just shy of him and sat back on her heels, placing a hand on either side of his face and forcing him to look at her.

“It wasn’t wrong. Feelings aren’t wrong, Jean-Luc. We can’t help them; we just have them. Jack would have wanted us to be happy. He’s gone. Don’t use him as an excuse because he’s a pretty shabby one.” Her voice was forceful, almost angry. She took her hands off of his cheeks and spread them flat on her thighs.

“Beverly, I-”

“Is that why you left after he died? Because you loved me?”

She was angry with him. Didn’t she understand? She had to understand; he had to make her see…

“Yes. No.” He took a deep breath. “That was a part of it, yes.”

“I needed you. Aside from me, you were the closest friend Jack had. I needed someone else there who understood. You disappeared. It hurt, Jean-Luc.”

He bit his lips together and breathed heavily through his nose. “That was never my intention.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you did it. That isn’t what you do when you love someone. You don’t leave them when they need you.” Her voice was soft now, barely a whisper.

Jean-Luc reached out and covered the backs of her hands with his palms. “I’m sorry, Beverly. If it’s any consolation, I’ve changed my mind.”

Her gaze shifted to meet his. “About what?”

“Reading those journals has given me an insight into Jack that I’ve never had. You’re right, he wouldn’t mind. He would be happy.”

“He would.” She shifted uncomfortably and frowned, as though unsure of whether or not to say something. Finally she cleared her throat gently and licked her lips. “Do you still love me?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. To his surprise, he felt light. The guilt and heaviness were gone.

She smiled and sighed. “Good, because I love you and I’d hate to be the only one. Just don’t leave this time.”

“Never.”

The urge to lean over and kiss her washed over him: she was so close. Blood rushing in anticipation, he didn’t push the urge aside as he normally would, but gave in.

His lips sank against hers, soft and pliant and she sighed a hot breath against him. The shocking rightness of it surprised him. It had been ages since he’d done anything but kiss someone and the thrilling realization that this was only the very beginning made his stomach bubble in excitement.

Her hands grasped the sides of his neck as she lowered herself backwards onto the couch, pulling him along with her. He pushed one of her knees to the side and settled himself between her legs. The physicality of her was almost shocking. He let her lips push his own apart slightly, shifting as his lower lip slid between hers. She sucked on it and the pressure made him shiver against her.

His fingers closed on her waist, squeezing the flesh and she settled back against the couch cushions. Beverly seemed fascinated by his ears, taking them between her fingers and exploring them, tugging and prodding them as they kissed.

Surprised when her tongue slipped against his lip, Jean-Luc ran his against hers, the slick, uncontrolled movement sparking him to press his hips down. Her head dropped back and she gasped at the friction. He moved down and scraped his teeth along the underside of her jaw. He let his fingers inch up her chest, feeling the subtle arches of each of her ribs as he went until finally, he reached her breast and closed his palm over it. He kneaded the sides of it firmly and Beverly made a strangled little noise of protest.

“Hmm?” he asked, barely moving his mouth from her pulse point.

“Just a little softer. It’s been a while,” she laughed. He lightened his touch and she sighed.

“Better?”

“Much.” She ducked her head and kissed him again, fingers skittering over his back to pull his shirt from the waist of his trousers. He thrust slightly against her as her fingertips strayed up his spine and she returned the motion.

To his surprise, she reached down and tugged her own shirt up and over her head, not even bothering to unbutton it first. Her skin was soft and tender as he smoothed a hand over it and the fabric of her bra was thin enough that he could distinguish the peaks of her nipples. He circled one with his thumb and she pressed up against him from waist to hip. The nipple hardened as he pinched and rolled it between his fingers and she moaned softly in his ear.

Beverly’s fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt, nails scraping the skin exposed as each came undone. He hadn’t worn a shirt with buttons since he was a child, but he could certainly see the appeal. As her fingers worked their way downwards, he felt the very beginnings of an erection swelling.

Jean-Luc sat back on his haunches, breathing heavily, and pulling the shirt off his torso. Beverly sat up as well and slipped the end of his belt through the buckle and unfastened it, her fingers stumbling over the button a moment before fitting it through its hole. She pulled his trousers down to his knees, leaving him to kick them off while she unfastened her skirt. The sound of the heavy fabric hitting the floor was soft but dense.

He leaned back over her and lowered his body to hers, elbows pressing into the couch. The way her skin moved against his sensitive stomach was maddeningly delightful, as was the realization that there was little between them but underwear. Almost without a thought, his fingers returned to her breast, squeezing it once more before sliding his fingertips under the wire of her bra. The skin he found beneath was unbelievably soft, yielding readily to his gentle prodding.

She sat up slightly, stomach brushing against his, and reached around to unhook her bra. The little clasp snapped satisfyingly and she lay back against the sofa cushions, the garment hanging loosely on her shoulders. For a moment, Jean-Luc considered slipping the straps down her arms, but he decided that was far too much effort at the moment and simply insinuated his hand under the fabric.

As his fingers circled her nipple, skin-on-skin, Jean-Luc felt Beverly reach down and stroke his penis firmly through his boxers. It twitched in her grasp and he exhaled heavily against her neck. She smiled against his ear and began tugging down his shaft in a slow rhythm, coaxing it harder. The friction was nice, but Jean-Luc wasn’t entirely in the mood for it just now. Sex was always so much better when he let an erection come naturally, pressure building and building with no relief until consummation.

Desperate to distract Beverly, he pulled her unfastened bra until it slid off her arms and he licked up the center of her chest. She arched, fingers scrabbling against the short hair at the base of his skull. His touch must have tickled her because he could feel the muscles of her abdomen tighten as he passed over them. With little warning, he brushed the very tip of his tongue against one of her nipples and she wriggled beneath him, hips rising and falling in time with the swipes of his tongue. He sucked gently on one breast while kneading the other and Beverly writhed against him.

She pushed him away from her breasts, hands in the center of his chest and hooked her leg across his hip. He started when her toes slipped past the waistband of his boxers and began to tug them down his thighs. He was glad for the fire, the warmth of it radiating across his back, combating the chill that almost certainly would have accompanied his nakedness otherwise.

He kissed her boldly, tongue pressing straight through into her mouth and sliding against hers sloppily. Unable to resist, he dropped his hips down until his swollen penis bumped against her pubic bone. He thrust against her as quickly as he dared, trying to take care that he didn’t go fast enough to come. Beverly sighed, a strangled, needy sound and rotated her hips in a fierce counterpoint. Breaking the kiss and probing the hollow running down her throat with his tongue, he slowed his motions further.

His hand grasped her knee firmly where it rested against his side and caressed along her thigh to the crotch of her underwear. Though he simply itched to pull the fabric aside and feel just how soft and wet and warm she was, he did not. Instead, he caressed the taut fabric with two of his fingers in a tickling motion. He started with long, lengthwise strokes over her labia and up to her mons. His pressure was firm and steady and Beverly shifted anxiously against his hand. The slickness concealed within her underwear was evident even through the fabric and his strokes shortened and sped up, finally centering over her clit.

The movement of her hips became more exaggerated and sporadic and he stopped. Beverly keened her pelvis towards his own, sighing in frustration when he drew back.

“Tease,” she moaned, breath coming in gasps.

He waited a moment for her respiration to calm before pulling the waistband of her underwear down as far as he could. She pulled her knees towards her chest, slipping her legs out of the garment, and tossing it to the floor.

Taking a breast in his mouth again, he gently probed the edges of her vagina, almost moaning himself at how tender and pliant the flesh was. His finger slid over her entrance and slipped down between her labia, slickness coating it. He pressed and kneaded for a few moments before sliding inside her and curling his finger up into her. Her hips lifted into him and she sighed. Wetting his thumb, he pushed it upwards and circled her clit slowly and firmly, moving the flesh itself rather than letting his finger move over it. He alternated thrusts of his finger with circles of his thumb until Beverly was thrusting shamelessly against him, head thrashing from side to side. She was tightening around him, building up to climax and he pulled his hand away, breaking all contact.

Panting, she looked up at him, eyes hungry and feral. His penis was painfully turgid, his blood flow had reacted to both gravity and the sensations of Beverly, slick around his hand. It simply ached with pressure, needing to be squeezed and clenched within something. The temptation to stroke it with his fist, even just once was overwhelming, but he contented himself with rolling his balls a few times before placing himself at Beverly’s entrance.

She squirmed against him a bit, lifting her hips so that the head of his penis rubbed over her clit. Unable to bear it anymore, he pressed the head into her entrance and slid easily inside. God, she was so tight. Her walls squeezed against the pressure in his penis in a gloriously, satisfyingly painful way. He waited a few moments to adjust before arching back until just the tip was left inside of her. Faster this time, he slid back into her and set up a steady rhythm.

Beverly’s breathy gasps had become deep, satisfied moans. She matched his pace, then urged him on with faster thrusts of her hips against his. Past the point of resistance, he complied, speeding his motions. She was tightening, clenching around him and it was driving him higher and higher until dizziness started to overtake him. His toes and his penis were tingling lightly and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Frantically, he laid his hand flat between the wings of Beverly’s hips and reached down with his thumb to stroke her clit. Her clenching became rhythmic around him and she gasped, tightening all at once. The tingling in his penis became more intense, too intense to bear, but he pressed on, pressed in over and over until finally it peaked and he clenched and stilled, spasming violently with several uncontrolled gasps.

Sighing heavily, he locked his elbows rather than collapsing onto Beverly. She reached up sleepily and ran her hand over his head and down his chest.

“Just think,” she sighed. “We could have been doing this for weeks if you hadn’t been so stubborn.”

She scooted against the back of the couch, giving Jean-Luc room to lie next to her.

“Guilty, not stubborn.”

“It’s the same difference.” She snuggled against his chest and pulled the thick woolen blanket that usually rested atop the couch over them. “Oh, I suppose it wouldn’t have been as good anyhow.”

“No, I suppose not.” He yawned. “I know it’s not terribly romantic of me, but I’m tired. Do you think it’s worth heading upstairs to the bedroom?”

Beverly mumbled something against his chest.

“What was that?”

She lifted her head. “I said I think we should. I’ve got a headache.”

“You’re supposed to say that beforehand, you know,” he quipped, getting to his feet with a groan. “I’ll put the fire out if you find our clothing.”

Jean-Luc poked around at the fire, tossing a few scoops of sand over it until the smoldering embers went dark, while Beverly scampered about the living room collecting clothing.

“You had underwear, didn’t you?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I thought so. We’ll have to find them in the morning. I can’t see anymore.”

“Somehow I doubt I’m going to need them tonight.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

It was several weeks later before Jean-Luc again brought up the subject of Jack. He had taken to spending more time helping Beverly around the house and less and less studying Jack’s journals. Beverly often wondered whether the restlessness Jean-Luc had felt was gone or whether he was simply enjoying the new development in their relationship too much to give the matter much thought.

She had been considering bringing the subject up herself when Jean-Luc had done so one night at dinner.

He had been quiet all evening, pushing his roasted potatoes around his plate aimlessly and poking at his meat rather than eating. It wasn’t like him. Jean-Luc did everything with purpose, whether it was cleaning or eating or making love. Tonight, though it was as though he was adrift.

“Beverly, how did you get me here from the chapel?”

She set her fork down and frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“When you found me in the chapel after the crash, how did you get me here? Did someone help you?” He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but instead stared intently at a deep gash in her kitchen table.

Clenching her hands, she shrugged. “I have a small anti-gravity unit in case I ever need to transport a patient. That was the only time I’ve used it since I got here.”

“Have you really?” He looked up at her, a sudden intensity in his eyes that confused her. “Do you know what the weight limit is?”

“A thousand kilograms.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“I need to get the escape pod here from the woods. I need to fix it.”

If he realized how odd a request he was making, Jean-Luc showed no sign of it. Beverly’s stomach turned uneasily. For weeks, she had been torn between hoping that he was giving up on his project and wondering when he was going to get back to work on it. It seemed that he hadn’t stopped working at all but had come up with a solution without her even having realized it. Her breathing threatened to become rapid and unsteady but she controlled it, taking deep, even breaths, forcing herself to remain calm.

“I think we could do that. One of us might have to push, but the anti-grav should pick up most of the pod’s weight. I haven’t got very many engineering tools, though. There isn’t a way to repair the structural damage.”

Jean-Luc stood and paced the length of the kitchen, deep in thought.

“I don’t know if I’ll need to.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he seemed unlikely to do so. As she opened her mouth to question him, Jean-Luc crossed to her chair and knelt beside it.

“I’ve figured it out, Beverly. I know how to fix this. I can set things right.”

“You’re going to use the escape pod to time travel then?”

Jean-Luc nodded. “Yes. According to Jack, if I set controls just right on the propulsion systems, I should be able to create a shockwave that will result in a tear in subspace back to a certain, designated point in the past. Once I travel through, I simply have to destroy the shuttle to seal the tear.”

Beverly’s eyes widened. “That seems a little…vague?”

“Jack has all the calculations in his notebooks. All I have to do is plug in the particulars and get the pod functioning. He believes that the nature of the tear should draw me to wherever I was at the moment I’m travelling to.”

“When will that be?”

“That’s where things get a bit hazy. As far as I can tell, everything started when Jack died. Saving him is my best option.”

She suppressed a groan of dismay. “That sounds reasonable enough.”

“I know it’s a long-shot, Beverly, but it’s the best one we have. I believe this is going to work.”

Beverly couldn’t do anything but nod. Her stomach felt as though it were caving in and forcing tears upwards into her eyes but she blinked once heavily, not allowing them to come. Taking a steadying breath she took his hand in hers. “We can go get it tomorrow. I’ll get my tools out after we clear up and we can see if there’s anything else we need. Someone in town might have something we can borrow.”

He smiled at her and took his plate to the sink.

She sighed.

Later that night, she lay in bed, Jean-Luc next to her gently playing with one of her breasts, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It felt pleasant, enough to make her clit tingle a little but not intensely enough to interfere with her brain.

“Jean-Luc, you really don’t have to.”

“Just because I don’t seem to be in the mood to go all the way doesn’t mean that we can’t still have fun,” he insisted, giving her nipple a tug that reached all the way to her groin. “My mind won’t quiet down enough for sex, but this is still quite enjoyable.”

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to argue with him, particularly as his fingers parted her labia and pressed against her clit.

“If you insist,” she smirked.

He wriggled his way under the covers, parting her legs and pushing her nightgown up around her hips. His forearms pressed her thighs apart and his hands found purchase around her waist, fingers pressing into the soft flesh.

Usually, he started by moving up her thighs. Tonight, though, he blew a steady stream of air on her clit and she bucked at the intensity. He moved right in, swirling his tongue around her and sucking the little nub into his mouth, pulling a soft ‘oh’ from her. He continued sucking, alternating the pressure of his suction until she was gasping breathlessly.

Her fingers knotted in the back of his shirt and she bit her lip, squirming, unsure whether she was trying to get away from the intensity or move deeper into it. He was relentless and quickly she was arching and jerking in a paroxysm of sensation.

For as quick as it had come, her orgasm left her limp and blissfully numb.

“God, Jean-Luc,” she moaned as he emerged from the blankets. He pulled her to him and she kissed him. “You’re buttering me up, aren’t you?”

“What? Not at all,” he protested.

She shook her head, playing with his short hair. “You’re getting ready to leave.”

“No!” He placed a palm on each of her cheeks, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Beverly, I said I wasn’t going to leave and I’m not planning on it.”

“But the escape pod… You said-“

“I need to fix it. Yes.”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

He sighed heavily, rolling onto his back. “I’m confused.”

“About what?”

“I’ve been certain for nearly a decade that I’m living a life that was never meant to be. That knowledge has been slowly driving me mad for all that time. I left Starfleet to get rid of that feeling, traveled the quadrant twice over in shuttles and cargo ships and freighters, catching passage wherever I could, never certain of where my next meal was coming from or whether I was going to have a bed to sleep in each night. It has occupied my every waking thought.

“When I arrived here, I thought I would heal for a few days and be back on my merry way to finish Professor Galen’s work and finally find my answers. Little did I know that my answers were here. Everything I could have ever wanted to know is in Jack’s journals. He felt the same thing I did and he had some very promising theories about how to correct it when the time came.

“Since I made love to you, I couldn’t care less about any of that. I would be content to let the galaxy rot and stay here with you. I’ve never cared about anyone that much. To be honest, Beverly, it frightens me.”

Her mouth was slack as she looked at him. “You mean you don’t want to leave?”

“Not in the least. That’s what troubles me. If I was so convinced before that setting the timeline straight was the right thing to do, how can I let what’s happened between us stop me from doing just that?

“On the other hand, though, it goes against everything I feel to give this up for some unknown alternative. People aren’t dying in hordes because of this change. The universe is not a worse place for it having happened. Of that I’m sure. Is it selfish of me to leave things the way they are because I prefer this life? Do I have the right to decide the fate of the entire universe based upon my love life?”

Beverly pushed herself upright. “That’s a question you’re going to have to ask yourself either way, Jean-Luc. I don’t know if you have any more right to leave things the way they are than you do to change them. Either decision affects billions of people.”

“If I chose to stay, then, does that mean that I’ve given up my life, my career for nothing?”

“By your own admission, you’re happy with the life you’re leading here. Maybe this is the life you’re supposed to have. After all, what were the chances that you would be captured by Yridian pirates and marooned on this planet? Out of all of the millions in the galaxy, why here?”

Jean-Luc rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head. “You make a convincing argument.”

Beverly put a hand on his chest. “Maybe it’s not about making an argument, Jean-Luc. What do you feel is right?”

“I can’t tell anymore. I thought that fixing things was the right thing to do, but now…” He shook his head in confusion.

“You’re trying to save the world, Jean-Luc.”

He looked her in the eyes. “Perhaps I am.”

“Have you considered that it might not need saving?”

A moment of silence passed, then two, then three. Finally, Jean-Luc sat up and took her hands in his. “It doesn’t. The universe has existed for billions of years, it’s going to exist for billions more no matter what I do, isn’t it? Everything will be fine. I’ve been so concerned with finding my answers that I’ve missed them. Perhaps this is what I need.”

The lurking fear that Beverly had been harboring since Jean-Luc had mentioned the escape pod dissipated, leaving only relief. “It’s what I need.”

He sat up and kissed her, a gentle, soft kiss, and they laid back down together.

“We’ve changed history,” Beverly mused.

“Exciting, isn’t it?”

“I can’t wait to see what happens.”

 

The End


End file.
